Years ago, when I taught 3rd grade, I had just finished telling my class all the things I'd do if I saw one more note passed. It couldn't have been 20 minutes later that, in the middle of the lesson, another student, a boy, whipped out a note. I stomped angrily over to him, snatched the note, looked down at it, and stopped in my tracks.
It was a well-worn letter his mother had written to him from prison. She was telling him how much she missed him, that she thought about him all the time, and that every time he missed her too, she wanted him to take out her note and hold it to think of her.
Sometimes, there are barely words...
I'm ashamed to say I don't remember his name. All eyes were on me, as the kids watched to see what I'd do. I folded that note up as reverently as a flag over a fallen soldier, respectfully placed it in the young man's hand, leaned down and whispered to him to cherish her letter, and to know that I would protect it - and him - with everything I had. I had to stop teaching to collect my tears, and hugged that young boy for a long time. I made up something to the class to protect his privacy and dignity, then went on teaching.
Sometimes in life, you just have to stop your own words from tripping you over a greater lesson in your path than the lesson you thought was yours to teach. So many times, I've regretted not being able to find a person I've remembered profoundly affecting me. That young man said and did very little that stood out that year. But his small hands held a note from a mama who had failed in some big way, but loved him powerfully. I hope they're both ok today. Hope maybe they're finally reunited... that maybe he knew how much he mattered to his real mother and to the surrogate who feebly hugged him in her place, with the hug we all ache so much to feel from arms too far to reach.
Love people no matter what. You never know what they carry in their pockets, in their hands, and in their lives.